Close Call
Circus Spectaculum 7
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Dale and Moz hid their treasure. It was a nice haul. They decided to go back to the same spot and try again. With most of their arrows intact they were confident they could manage another creature.
Things wouldn’t quite go as planned.
The moon was waning but still quite bright while the castle remained dark. Judging by the moon’s position, and the impatience of expectation, the next guard-creature was later than the first.
This time Dale and Moz started from the ground, leaving the tree as an escape if things went awry.
Moz fired first and missed the target. Dale tried next but also missed. Moz’s second attempt was right on the mark, the arrow lodged in the creature’s upper chest below the throat.
The creature jerked backward momentarily, then leaned forward, never breaking stride. Then it began to run at them.
Infused with shock and fear the two young men began to shoot their bows as fast as possible. The intensity of the moment focused their minds and improved their aim. But none slowed the creature.
“The head! Shoot for the head,” Moz exclaimed as the creature drew nearer.
The headshots were much more difficult and there were more misses than hits.
As the creature came close Moz was in a fury. He grabbed the last few arrows he had in one fist, grunted viscerally, and called to Dale.
“Get up the tree!”
Moz matched the creature’s last few steps towards it as it closed on them, leaped in the air, and caught the creature around the waist with his legs. With a wild war cry he stabbed the creature in one eye repeatedly with the arrows.
Dale looked down in horror as the creature's arms wrapped around Moz’s body and squeezed. The creature had more putrid flesh than the first but if the bones stuck through the fingertips, Moz would be torn up.
Following Moz’s lead, Dale grabbed the last of his arrows in two hands and launched himself from the tree. Dale broke his fall with the arrows puncturing the top of the creature’s skull and his feet digging into its hips. Moz wrenched the creature's skull to one side, ripping it from its neck, as all three tumbled to the ground. Moz on the bottom, creature in the middle, Dale on top.
Dale jumped up and pulled the creature's inert body off Moz.
“Are you alright?” asked Dale anxiously.
“I was supposed to be the hero,” replied Moz in a voice muffled by breathlessness.
“Oh, you were. They'll tell legends about you,” laughed Dale, relieved.
“They’ll tell legends about a flying squirrel coming to save me. Did you jump out of the tree?”
“You charged the thing and ripped its head off! That’s a tale people will want to hear.”
“We better get this thing buried. Too much flesh to break the bones.”
The two labored hard, stripping the armor parts and making a grave for the body. They buried the head separately just in case. Satisfied they had enough to trade for new bows and arrows, they made camp in their usual spot away from the graves.
They headed to the trading outpost the next morning to barter for the armor pieces. The proprietor seemed as interested in the source of the gear as the gear itself. Sensing an opportunity, Dale asked if the information would be worth the battle axe. The proprietor wavered but eventually made the deal.
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